


Exercise in Concealment

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s10e14 The Shroud, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack wanted to bang his fists on the briefing room table and yell, "Look closer. Look at him. For Christ's sake, he's dying before your eyes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exercise in Concealment

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-The Shroud.

After the Odyssey, after a lengthy but tedious spell in the infirmary, sitting on the bed next to Daniel, waiting for the exam, after a strained meal in the commissary, the debrief should have been a piece of pie.

Funnily enough, and Jack had to see this as funny because if he didn’t he’d rip some fucker’s head off, probably Woolsey’s, it turned out to be the hardest thing of all.

 The briefing room was crowded. Landry was in charge and Jack was content to let him be so. Woolsey sat beside Landry, shifting uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact with Daniel, unwilling to make eye contact with Jack. Mitchell and Carter flanked Daniel in a pincer-like movement of quiet protection. Teal’c sat beside Jack exuding stolid support. Vala sat next to Carter, and God alone knew what she was thinking.

Jack sat directly opposite Daniel.

Jack thought maybe he was coming apart at the seams. Not Daniel, though. Daniel was working his way through his notes, speaking quietly, confidently, with just the right inflection and intonation in his classic briefing voice. Just another debrief. Just another mission.

Just another occasion when the universe fucked with Daniel Jackson and left those who loved him to pick up the pieces.

Nothing to see here, move along.

Except there was a world of action going on in that room, if you spoke Daniel, and Jack did. Fluently.

Daniel’s delivery was too pitch-perfect. He’d been rehearsing this, the clever bastard. Give away just enough to keep the madding crowd from realizing what was going unsaid. He was playing the room for all he was worth with the kind of astonishing self-possession that made Jack’s teeth hurt.

He spoke of Adria, and priors and Ori and plans to annihilate the lot of them and how he’d instigated those plans.

He said not one word about losing himself and fear and honest to God fucking terror at what he’d become and what would become of him now.

Daniel handed around documents with hands that didn’t shake, gestured in that way that was uniquely Daniel and that constituted, in truth, a language all its own.

No one else noticed that it was a cover. Too relieved that Daniel was back with them, as hale and hearty as could be expected, recognizably Daniel.

Jack wanted to bang his fists on the briefing room table and yell, “Look closer. Look at him. For Christ’s sake, he’s dying before your eyes.”

Daniel couldn’t keep his hands still. There was a kind of desperate, barely contained restlessness in him that Jack could only cope with by clinging on to his coffee mug tightly enough that he couldn’t reach across the table and take those hands in his and clutch them next to his heart and say “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Any physical contact was unwelcome right now. That much was clear. The look Daniel gave him in the Odyssey infirmary, when relief had loosened Jack’s tongue way too much and he’d called him Sleepyhead, had been just as much “Don’t fucking touch me” as it had been drowsy surprise.

Daniel, in true hurting, confused, fucked-over Daniel fashion, had retreated from them all and Jack in particular, and Jack’s heart was breaking.

And he’d completely lost the thread of the briefing room conversation. All he knew was that everyone’s attention had turned to him and he didn’t have a clue what he should be saying.

He coughed, which bought him no time at all. Rising from his seat, he opted for a non-explanation policy. He nodded at Landry, waved Mitchell and Carter back to their chairs as they rose in unison and spoke in Daniel’s direction without actually catching his eye.

“Excuse me. Daniel … a word.”

Jack left the meeting, trusting that Daniel was following but unable to turn around and check. His emotions were way to close to the surface. It was getting dangerous.

He strode into the corridor and kept going, relieved beyond measure to hear the footfall behind him. Eventually, when they were out of earshot, he stopped, wheeling round in time to see Daniel throw his arms around himself in a stance that took passive-aggressive to a whole new level.

Jack took a deep breath. “The crap you’re pulling. It won’t work with me. If I hear the word ‘fine’ cross your lips, I won’t be responsible for my actions. We need to talk.”

Daniel blinked. Then blinked again. “Actually, I _am_ ‘fine.’ And I’d appreciate it if you’d let me carry on being ‘fine.’”

And there it was. A patented Daniel plea for understanding. _Don’t call me on this because I can’t deal with the fallout because you won’t be around to put me back together._

Jack heard every unspoken word. He wanted to weep, and he hadn’t cried since … since the last time his heart had been ripped out and stamped on.

“I have some leave coming.” _Spend it with me._

“That’s good. You look … tired. The cabin will do you good.”

Unbelievable. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets to stop him from grabbing Daniel’s shoulders and hauling him in.

“Offer’s there.”

Daniel gave him that half smile. “I know,” he said, softly.

A slew of Marines was heading up the corridor towards them.

Time was up.

“Call me.” Jack half turned to leave, his plea lost in noisy banter.

Daniel nodded.

He wouldn’t. Not yet. But Jack could wait. Piece of pie.


End file.
